The Exception
by Lady Dudley
Summary: Molly Hooper was always the exception to the rule. Implied/Pre-Sherlolly.


**A/N: This is my original idea for the prompt from morbidmegz (see: 'Important') that I decided to revisit, it's also more closely linked to what svartalfhild had in mind with the lab coat prompt (see: 'Security'). Besides, I've wanted to do something with Molly and her glasses for a while - if you look closely at her I.D. she used to have them. Anyways, hope you like :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

_**The Exception**_

Sherlock's eyes widened a little in alarm as he caught sight of Molly making her way down the corridor. He hadn't expected to see her so late at St. Bart's; he held his breath, if anyone was going to be able to see through his disguise it was her.

He just hoped she'd have enough sense not to say anything.

She walked passed him with barely a glance, stifling a yawn behind her hand as she stopped to get a coffee from one of the vending machines.

He frowned, he didn't like Molly ignoring him at the best of times and he was a little disappointed that she hadn't been able to recognise him.

Forgetting himself for a moment, he retraced his steps to join her at the machine and raised an eyebrow at the way she was squinting at the words.

She glanced up at him, "Sorry," she apologised, "I couldn't find my contacts and I forgot to bring my glasses with me," she added in a rush before he could reply. She bit her lip, looking back at the machine, "I don't need one anyway," she decided, looking a little flustered. "Sorry," she apologised again and, slipping passed him, disappeared back down the corridor.

Sherlock stared after her, feeling oddly protective; today was obviously not Molly's day.

It didn't take him long to finish solving the case. It had been barely a 2 to begin with, but as it was at St. Bart's he'd felt almost obligated to take it. Or, rather, John had hinted it might be helpful to stay on the good side of the powers-that-be at the hospital; before mentioning that it might end up affecting Molly when that argument had proved useless.

After presenting his findings to his client, he made his way down to the morgue.

Molly was slumped on her desk, fast asleep with her head pillowed in her arms and her glasses about to slide off the end of her nose.

She started as he placed the coffee he'd brought her next to her elbow.

"White, no sugar, correct?" he asked, taking a seat nearby as she sat up quickly, pushing her glasses back up her nose.

"Yes, thank you," she mumbled as she reached for the coffee, before looking at him suspiciously, "why are you bringing me coffee?"

"I think I prevented you from having one before," he explained, he gestured towards the cup, "I thought I would make amends."

Molly's brow furrowed as she picked up the cup, still eyeing him warily, "_You_ were the doctor by the machine?" she asked, realisation dawning as she took a sip.

"Yes."

Molly took another sip of her coffee, shaking her head, "I should pay more attention," she mumbled.

"You didn't have your contacts or your glasses," he reminded her.

"True."

Sherlock picked an imaginary piece of lint off his trousers as Molly eyed him, "Was there something you needed?"

Sherlock glanced up, "Do I need a reason to visit the morgue?"

"No," Molly said slowly, "but there usually is a reason."

Sherlock wasn't sure how to respond to her statement, he didn't have what he would consider a legitimate reason to visit the morgue. He'd just wanted to see her and to make sure she made it home safely.

Molly sighed, "Sherlock, it's been a long day," she told him, setting her coffee aside, "and I'm not in the mood to play games with you. What do you need?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her a little, drumming his fingers on his thighs agitatedly. Molly reflected that if she didn't know better, she'd think he looked trapped.

"I don't play games," Sherlock protested finally with a huff.

"Of course you don't," Molly agreed patiently, "but you brought me coffee, what do you need?" she repeated.

"Why are you wearing glasses?" he asked, seemingly like himself again as he regarded her.

She blinked at the sudden topic change, "I couldn't find my contacts this morning." She cocked her head to the side, "You came to ask me about my glasses?"

"You never told me why you stopped wearing them," he explained, not quite answering her question.

Molly studied the cup in her hand for a moment, "You told me they throw off the symmetry of my face," she confessed, taking another sip of her drink to avoid saying anything else.

It was Sherlock's turn to blink, "What?"

"My glasses, you told me once that they threw off the symmetry of my face," she explained, avoiding his gaze in an attempt to hide some of her embarrassment.

Sherlock regarded her for a long moment, torn between surprise and regret. To his knowledge, no one had ever taken his deductions so much to heart that they changed accordingly; he should have remembered that this was Molly.

Molly was always the exception to the rule.

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and cocked his head to the side, watching as Molly concentrated on tracing the rim of her cup with her finger.

"Contacts do suit you better," he said after a moment, still regarding her almost critically, "but only because I can see your face more clearly."

She looked up at him warily, unsure whether to accept the backhand compliment or not.

"But you shouldn't ever change for me or anyone else," he continued, standing up, "otherwise you wouldn't be my Molly."

He checked his watch, "It's late," he told her, a little confused by the bemused expression on her face, "would you like me to take you home?"

"That would be nice," she said with a small smile, "I'll just go get my things."

Sherlock watched her go with a slightly puzzled expression, he never really understood women and, to be perfectly honest, was never really interested in trying to.

Once again, however, he had a feeling that Molly would be the exception.


End file.
